On The Turning Away
by tygermommy
Summary: My take on how Sam finds out about Dean and Ezekiel's deal, and it doesn't go so well. As a matter of fact, it requires the intervention of another angel before everything between the brothers implodes. Will they bury this anger or let it destroy them? Angry/resentful!Sam, Regretful/heartbroken!Dean. Warnings for language. Ch. 5 up! PLEASE R&R!
1. Chapter 1

Sam stood, mouth agape, and speechless…

The fight with Abaddon resulted in her escape, again, but before she left, she knew how to best break the Winchesters—from within.

_Just plant the seed, Abby, let hate fester all on its own and watch it implode. I LOVE bunker busters…_

"He didn't tell you. I knew before you did." She smiled and bared her teeth in a snarl that would be burned into Sam's psyche for at least the next 2 hours, or at least until he focused his anger on his older brother. She walked confident, cocky circles around Sam, looking him up and down and wondering what it would be like to swim around in there. "I can't possess you—well, I could, but I won't—I prefer your brother. But he let someone inside you."

Sam looked confused. Dean was pinned against a pillar in the church, bleeding and near unconscious, and Ezekiel was outside, unable to enter the church due to the sigils painted on the outside. Abaddon thought this through…

It would take little work, she thought, to watch them disintegrate; to turn on each other, to completely sweep one away in a tide of anger and watch the other skin himself alive….

She had it all set up…kidnap a few more hunters, make a phone call, set up a trap…ever since she learned of Dean's little angelic switcheroo with the celestial memory wipe, she gained a foothold and would use it to her advantage.

Of course, because the Winchesters were involved, the fight yielded casualties, but she didn't care. All the demons who responded to her invite were dead, as were all four captive hunters. She'd beat Dean just within an inch of his life—as soon as she dropped her bomb, she'd make her way out and let Ezekiel in, but he'd be too busy fixing Dean to pay attention to her escape route.

"You've been an angel puppet, Sam."

Sam stared at her and clenched his jaw, planning how to take her out as soon as he could.

"And not only have you been a puppet, your memory of it was whitewashed-."

"Shut up," Sam growled.

"And guess who planned it all? When you were dying? When you told DEATH you were ready? You're ever-faithful, ever-loving, dedicated-only-to-you brother."

Sam was silent, then quick, flashing glimpses of Bobby (_Bobby?_), a cabin in the woods (_where was that_?), Death (_Well played, my boy_…)played like old movie frames in his mind…

He felt the submission, he felt the cold, he felt the relief of Death, knowing that no one would ever get hurt because of him ever again. He was ready to go—he even said so. Then Dean showed up. Wait—not Dean?

Abaddon saw the recognition in his eyes, and fanned the flame. "Really"? Did you think your brother really killed three demons in that store? Oh, Sam…it wasn't your almighty protector! It was YOU—well, wait—it was NOT you, it was Ezekiel…you know your friend outside? The one you met that Dean pretended he didn't know? He's been possessing you since Dean got you to the hospital after you didn't have the balls to complete the trials. You were DEAD, Sam. You were burned from the inside—does that sound familiar? No one could save you—so big brother stepped in, oh, wait—no he didn't." She laughed, then she continued. "He wanted you to live when you didn't even want to, so he invited an angel to hitch a ride and heal you in the process. Best part is, he didn't want you to remember, but that angel knows everything about you. He swam in your head, Sam, without your permission."

Sam lost his breath. As Abaddon continued, his memories flooded back.

"Oh, Sam," she feigned sympathy. "You're such an ass. Your brother made a fool out of you. He lied to you—about you!"

Dean heard everything the fallen angel was saying. He saw his brother's shoulders sink. He saw the recollection in Sam's face. This time, when the wall fell, there were no seizures, no screaming…it was just blood draining from his brother's face.

"Have fun with that, honey. See you soon, Dean."

With that, she disappeared, and Dean slid down the pillar and fell into a heap on the floor.

Sam made no move towards his brother.

The elder Winchester stood, on shaky legs, and reached for Sam for support, who passed by him towards the exit. He didn't stop.

Nor did Sam acknowledge Ezekiel as he walked to the car.

It was going to be a long ride home.


	2. Chapter 2

On The Turning Away Chapter 2

Sam remained quiet the whole way back to the bunker. Ezekiel had healed Dean as soon as he made it out of the church, no thanks to Sam, and had decided with his friend that he make himself scarce for a few.

As he drove the Impala down the dark hypnotizing highway, Dean swore he saw Sam's eyes tear up a few times between St Louis and Jefferson City. His fists were tied in knots and his jaw clenched periodically. He said nothing. He just sat in the passenger seat, like always, but he didn't fall asleep and didn't fiddle with the radio. He ignored offers for a drink at the roadside store. He didn't even get out to pee.

Dean knew he was in trouble, he just thought he's wait until they got home. Every now and then he'd take a deep breath and let it out, just to break the tension and see if Sam would respond. He got nothing.

It was 2 a.m. by the time they got back to the bunker, and before Baby even came to a complete stop, Sam had jumped out of the car, slammed the door, and entered the building without even a passing glance towards his brother.

Dean closed his eyes for a moment and leaned on the hood of the car before he opened the door to his and Sam's newfound haven. _It ain't gonna be much of a haven tonight_, he thought, _Ah, well, he'll get over it….he has to._

As he slowly crept down the metal steps, he saw Kevin, in nothing but a tee shirt and shorts, roused from his slumber and strolling out of his bedroom, wiping his eyes. "What's Sam packing for? Where you guys going now?"

"We're not going anywhere."

Sam exited his bedroom, his duffel stuffed with clothes. "That's right. We're not going anywhere."

Dean put his head down and breathed in deeply, then closed his eyes. He was met with a confused look from the young prophet. "What happened?" He whispered.

Dean shook his head, then met Sam in his path. "Sam, stop."

"I'm gone, Dean, I'm out. Get out of my way."

Dean reached for his brother, grabbing hold of the duffel's strap and whizzing Sam around to face him. He was met with cold, black eyes. Not eyes that were possessed, but cold eyes, hard eyes, the kind of stare that convicts and freezes the heart by injection. It took the older brother's breath away, and he felt the oxygen leaving his lungs again, and his heart sunk to his shoes.

"Sam-."

"Don't you ever, _EVER_ say my name, again."

Dean could feel his grip tightening around the strap, but he couldn't find any words.

Sam, on the other hand, decided it was time, and both barrels were loaded.

"How dare you," he started, eyes boring into Dean's. "You _whitewashed_ me? You took away _my_ choice? You're a liar, Dean. I remember Death and what I said to him. And I was okay with it. Then I remember thinking, 'Dean's here—everything's gonna be okay-." His voice trembled with both anger and embarrassment. "And then I remember being confused because it wasn't you. It was someone else passing himself off as you. Didn't you think I'd find out? Didn't you think, somewhere, down the road, that you'd have to tell me the truth? Or did you and your 'new friend' agree never to tell me at all? I had you tagged,Dean. I had your number. It _is_ another angel…"

With that, Dean released his grip, and Sam grabbed his hand and pushed Dean backwards.

"Sam-."

Kevin stood probably eight feet away from the two, speechless.

"You know what, Dean—you're selfish. You didn't save me for me, you saved me for you. You're one self-centered son of a bitch."

The elder brother looked away, then went to speak.

Sam continued with his conviction. "Shut up. I'm not even interested in your side, Dean. I already know what it is. And it doesn't matter, because NOTHING you say matters to me anymore. You said you'd never, ever, put anything in front of me, and you know what?" His voice trembled again, this time tears ran freely from his eyes and were so heavy, they only skimmed his skin on the way to the floor. "I believed you. But I shouldn't have. You know what you put before me? You."

Dean grabbed Sam firmly by the arm this time as the younger turned to walk up the steps, and was pushed away again, so hard, that he fell into a wooden chair and turned it over, both landing on the floor. He stared up at his younger brother in shock.

Kevin, in all his young wisdom, stepped in front of the towering man, and looked Sam in the eye. "He's your brother, Sam. Don't leave."

Sam glanced down at Kevin, clenching his jaw, nostrils flaring to force in more air, and said flatly, "I don't have a brother. He's dead."


	3. Chapter 3

On The Turning Away Chapter 3

A/N: I don't own any _Supernatural_ characters, other than the one that's floating around in my head. Regrettably, I'll make no money from this. PLEASE continue to read and review. I need them as much as the brothers need each other…I heard this song last night while I was thinking about the hurt that both brothers would feel (yes—I do listen to Classic Rock) and it fit so perfectly with the emotions and the show, I had to post it in this chapter…

On the turning away  
From the pale and downtrodden  
And the words they say  
Which we won't understand  
"Don't accept that what's happening  
Is just a case of others' suffering  
Or you'll find that you're joining in  
The turning away"

It's a sin that somehow  
Light is changing to shadow  
And casting it's shroud  
Over all we have known  
Unaware how the ranks have grown  
Driven on by a heart of stone  
We could find that we're all alone  
In the dream of the proud

On the wings of the night  
As the daytime is stirring  
Where the speechless unite  
In a silent accord  
Using words you will find are strange  
And mesmerized as they light the flame  
Feel the new wind of change  
On the wings of the night

_Pink Floyd—On The Turning Away _from a _A Momentary Lapse of Reason_

Dean arose from the floor, slackjawed. He looked at the smashed chair, and then to Kevin. Tears ran freely down the young man's face. He wiped his mouth with his hand and silently made his way towards the liquor cabinet.

Anyone human knows that rejection hurts. Even if it's from someone you hate. After rejection hits, its biggest WMD is despair. Kevin could see it in Dean's eyes. The profound loss, the emptiness of heart, the not knowing where the next breath is coming from, the anger at that beating thing inside your chest that just keeps ticking away even when you don't want it to anymore…

The weight at what Dean did came crashing in on him like a rogue wave, like the one that would capsize a freighter or sink a passenger ship and not even give enough time for a distress call. Even the _Edmond Fitzgerald_ had nothing on Dean Winchester, and he sank close to twice as fast.

His eyes blurred with tears while he poured a huge glass of bourbon, some of it spilling onto the table. He couldn't remember the last time his hands shook this bad. Well, yes he did-when he went to Lisa's after Sam disappeared into the Hell Hole and he collapsed into her arms and cried until he threw up…

Dean and Kevin stood in the same place for the better part of an hour, not saying a word to each other, or even sharing a glance.

Both men looked up when they heard a small stirring at the top of the steps.

Ezekiel stood there, in the doorway that Sam left gaping open, the same grief etched on his face as was now blanketed over everyone that had recently shared space in Parts Unknown, Lebanon, Kansas.

He entered, slowly, walking down the steps, careful to take in all the bunker offered, but keeping his focus on his broken friend. Dean sat in a chair he'd pulled over to the liquor cabinet. He decided the better part of valor would be to sit rather than fall, although by this time and the amount of bourbon he'd consumed, the chair really didn't make a difference…

Ezekiel placed his hand on Dean's teetering shoulder, and he knelt on the floor. He looked into the hunter's eyes, and then to Kevin's, and then back to Dean's.

"He's never disowned you before."

Dean shook his head, then covered his eyes and mouth tightly with his hand, and audibly began to sob. "It's all my fault-." His breath hitched and stopped and started, then, the proverbial dam broke.

Dean Winchester, demon hunter extraordinaire, survivor of hell, deliverer of souls, Leviathan killer…sunk to the floor again in a puddle of tears and lament. His body convulsed as he heaved. "It's my fault," He squeezed out. "It's all on me. It's all on me."

Kevin remained in the same place as he started. He'd cried alone when he heard his mother was dead, and then again when he was locked in the bunker with no hope of getting out. Tears slid down his cheeks freely, his own breath hitching as he watched his friend in a heap on the floor.

Ezekiel sat with Dean, allowing his friend to use his knee as a makeshift pillow. He'd existed for ions, since Time came to be, and he'd seen this level of heartbreak before, when he comforted the mother of a dead child as she cradled him in her arms. He laid his hand on Dean's hair as the hunter wept out loud. _There is no recovery from this…only death can take it away. There is no healing, there is no ignoring it. _His thoughts then shifted to his own responsibility in this mess, and how only Peace could make it better. Silently and without permission, he closed his eyes.


	4. Chapter 4

On The Turning Away Chapter 4

Sam walked. He ran some, but his duffel made it a little too difficult. He was tempted to just drop and leave it, but he didn't want to leave Dean with any clues as to his whereabouts.

_That mother fucker…professing all this time that 'We're together,' he'd 'put nothing in front of me.' I thought all this shit was over with us. I had my brother back. I liked life! He had the balls to whitewash me? And lie about it? Again and again? What the fuck? I'm done with all this. I'm done with hunting. I'm done with him. This is crazy. How many times can somebody die? I wanted to be dead. I wanted Dean to be safe. I wanted him to leave the life and find a wife and have babies and be happy. Not anymore. He's a liar. What a selfish bastard. I died. I died trying to do something good. Hell could have been locked up tight, with Crowley and his whole gang of assholes. He took that away from me, too._

When Sam Winchester is angry, he stays angry. He's one of those fellas that can focus his fury on directly what he's mad at instead of sharing it worldwide. He was mad at Dean, and the best way to not to end up in prison orange was to get as far away as possible and disappear…

He ended up at a bus station in Smith Center. It was small and quiet, nondescript…a good place to hitch a ride to nowhere, with no one able to follow you. The chairs were largely empty; actually, there were only four in the whole place. He picked an arbitrary destination, bought a ticket, and sat for the 4 hour wait until his trip into the Great Unknown began.

A small woman sat quietly in the next chair over, crocheting. From what Sam could tell, she was young, and really pretty. She had long dark hair, mostly covered by a large brown cloche hat, and a round face and long nimble fingers. She wore a dress adorned with small pink flowers and a bulky brown sweater that covered most of her figure. She actually looked like she'd be better dressed as a grandma. She greeted him wordlessly with a smile, and continued with her work. He watched as she twirled and hooked and knotted, her fingers in a working in a steady rhythm as she went…

The next thing he knew, he was hit on his shoulder and startled awake. It was the crochet lady, who greeted his surprise with a comforting smile. "Hey, fella! You look like you didn't get much sleep last night!"

Sam smiled back sheepishly. "I didn't. Thanks."

She stood up. "Lemme get you some coffee."

Sam watched as she poured and brought the filled Styrofoam cup over to him. It was gloriously warm and tasted magnificent as it slid down his throat. _Maybe this new life won't be so bad…_

"I don't mean to press, but we have a pretty long wait still, and you look mad. Why are you mad?" She looked at him straight in the eye, not flinching once. Wow, were her eyes green…and beautiful. Now that she spoke, Sam gathered that she was a woman who was used to waiting. Her speech was calm and not rapidly-paced, and her voice sounded like silk. She had patience, probably, he could tell. A lot of it…

"I'd rather not discuss it."

She frowned. "It's not good to carry that anxiety around."

"That's what I'm trying to get away from."

She paused and took a breath. "My name's Muriel."

"Sam."

She disentangled her fingers from her needles and thread and extended her hand. "Nice to meet you."

"Same here."

They fell into silence again, and Sam found himself drawn to watching her fingers again as she crocheted. _What an art_, he thought…

She smiled again from under her hat. "It's all in the thread you pick, you know? How tight you get the stitches. Once you start, it kind of designs itself." She giggled, and Sam genuinely smiled for the first time in almost 24 hours. ""But you don't seem like the crocheting kind."

"No." He smiled again. "Who taught you?"

Her lip started to tremble, and a tear fell from her cheek onto the material. "My Dad. He's gone now. I miss Him so much."

He could see letters in the material she'd already formed and felt an all-to-familiar lump forming in his throat.

"These are His words. They bring me comfort. I know I'll see Him again someday." She tied off the now-finished product and held it in her hands. "Would you like to see it?"

"Sure."

Instead of holding it up, she placed it in his hands and let him open it himself. It was as ornate as it was tightly-woven, but because it felt just as delicate, he let it fall and unfold in his hands. As he read the words, visual reminders like still photos and resonances of Dean rose up out of nowhere…

_If I speak in the tongues____of men or of angels, but do not have love, I am only a resounding gong or a clanging cymbal.__If I have the gift of prophecy__and can fathom all mysteries__and all knowledge,__and if I have a faith__that can move mountains,__but do not have love, I am nothing.__If I give all I possess to the poor__and give over my body to hardship that I may boast, __**]**__but do not have love, I gain nothing._

_Love is Patient. _

_Love is Kind _"Come on, Little brother…"

_It does not envy._ (Smile)

_It does not boast. _(Giggle)

_It is not proud. _(Giggle…stop…)

_It does not dishonor others._

_It is not self-seeking._

_It is not easily angered._

_It keeps no record of wrongs._

_Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the Truth._

_It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres._

_And now these three remain: faith, hope and love.__But the greatest of these is love._

The wounded hunter looked up at Muriel through the tears betraying him. She reached up her delicate hand and wiped his cheek, and smiled at him again.

"Your brother loves you, Sam. What he did may have been an act of self-preservation, indeed, but everything he has done since the day you were born is because he loves you. It's not destiny, it's not in his blood, or your blood, or demon blood. It's in his heart. And your heart. When he thought you were gone and he went to Lisa—yes, he loved her—but every day—_every morning_ when he woke up, his first thought was of you. That weight swung on his heart like a 20-ton pendulum. Every day. Dean's love for you isn't perfect, but it is _whole_."

Sam felt his whole body shake. He kept it reigned in, but only because he was in a relatively public place. He wiped his eyes furiously and tried like hell to swallow the pain lodged in his throat. He felt her lift his chin again, and he was greeted again with that comforting smile. Her hand traveled down from his cheek, over his shoulder and down his arm to grip his hand with the crocheted art still in his grasp.

"Keep this. You can't pull it apart, you can't rip it. It won't fray, even. It'll never wear out. You're hurt because you love your brother as much as he loves you. You need to go home, Sam."

"You're an angel."

"Of Peace. Yes."

Hunter never far from the surface, and analytical mind always studying, Sam hardened for a minute and met her gaze. "What do you stand to profit from all this?"

She raised her eyebrows, careful not to break the tiny thread she'd just weaved within him. "Me? Nothing. Nothing at all." She looked up into the air. "At least some of us don't. I hate discord. I hate anger. You and your brother are good men, and you deserve some rest. You can find it in each other, if you work hard enough."

She barely had enough time to take a breath, but horror overtook her face, and her eyes and mouth glowed with the familiar light, then she collapsed on the floor.


	5. Chapter 5

On The Turning Away Chapter 5

A/N: Sorry. I suck at fight scenes…

_No more turning away__  
__From the weak and the weary__  
__No more turning away__  
__From the coldness inside__  
__Just a world that we all must share__  
__It's not enough just to stand and stare__  
__Is it only a dream that there will be__  
__No more turning away_

_Pink Floyd On the Turning Away from a Momentary Lapse of Reason_

As she fell, Sam looked up, and saw another angel with a sinister smile looking down at him, the bloody knife still in his hand.

"Sam Winchester—did you really think you were going to get away? Disappear into the great wide open? Oh, no no no…you're mine…"

Wow. This angel could've chosen a better vessel. He was about 5'6", fat, and bald. His cheeks rolled over his chin in thick folds from the corners of his mouth and they jiggled when he talked. The buttons on his plaid shirt stretched and strained to stay fastened against his protruding belly, and his pants were about 4 inches too long. To make things worse, he had hairy toes and wore flip flops.

Sam pursed his lips and furrowed his brow. "Where you taking me? To the Dairy Queen?"

Suddenly, he was picked up from behind and thrown against the wall, so violently he was knocked out.

SPN SPN SPN SPN SPN SPN SPN SPN SPN SPN SPN SPN

Kevin walked out of Dean's room, holding his nose and carrying several towels far in front of him. Ezekiel had stayed to watch over his friend, thank God. At least Kevin didn't have to deal with a drunk Dean alone…

"He threw up again."

"We need to rid this place of any alcohol," Ezekiel stated. "And weapons."

Kevin stopped and looked straight at the angel, disbelieving the latest statement. "Have you seen this place? The whole _thing_ is a weapon."

Ezekiel all of the sudden looked distracted, as if he was listening to something else that he was straining to hear. "I must leave. Sam is in trouble."

"Wait-." Kevin stopped and huffed. "He doesn't want you."

The sound of retching emanated from Dean's room. Again.

SPN SPN SPN SPN SPN SPN SPN SPN SPN SPN SPN SPN

Ezekiel found Sam. He also found three more angels, all with the goal of finding Sam as a means of finding Castiel.

Ezekiel put up a noble fight, trying to preserve his brothers' honor first. He plead with them to join him in living on Earth with as much dignity as they did in Heaven, but their anger blinded them to his plight. They were strong, and even as the final angel was stabbed by Sam from behind, he managed to wound Ezekiel enough there was some question as to how the pair would return to the bunker.

"Sam," Ezekiel whispered through bloodstained teeth, "You need to get to your brother. I can get you there, but you will have to let me in. I do not have the strength to break the barrier that surrounds your home."

Sam silently nodded, realizing that even though this angel possessed him without his knowledge, his mission was benign. Ezekiel, too, responded to Dean's hope to preserve his brother's life, and possessing him was not the preferred means to the end. The young hunter scooped up the angel and stood him up straight, and the two vanished, leaving behind a stunned bus station ticket employee to wonder whether he should start taking his wife's Thorazine…

SPN SPN SPN SPN SPN SPN SPN SPN SPN SPN SPN SPN

Kevin, meanwhile, sat in the bunker, at the table, staring at Dean's bedroom door. The elder Winchester had closed and locked it, holing himself inside when he discovered that the remaining alcohol was inaccessible. Kevin actually thought Dean might have been trying to commit suicide by liquor intoxication; he'd heard, while he was at school, that a student had died after a night of binge drinking. In all the time he'd known his now "older brother," he'd never seen Dean so broken. They had confronted Crowley and his cronies, faced horrors that would send the most faithful priests to the nearest exorcist, and almost _saved the world from Hell_, but the most human element, loss, was destroying Dean from the inside. He has cried out to Heaven to save his brother from internal burns, but here he was, suffering the same fate.

The prophet was done crying. He honestly thought he'd dried out his tearducts. He watched as his friend set out on a path of self-abuse that was like trying to stop a runaway train heading down from the tip of Mt. Everest.

He wasn't scared until he heard loud bangs and smashes in Dean's room. If it wasn't for the shield he knew that protected the Men of Letters lair from almost everything supernatural, he would've sworn Dean was dispatching the whole of Hell, all by himself.

When the room got quiet, he was hoping Dean fell into a deep, alcohol-induced slumber. There was nothing. No snoring, no retching, no sobs, just…nothing…

That's why he jumped when he heard a loud thump at the door…

He armed himself with the nearest weapon he could find, although he didn't know the first thing in how to use it, scaled the steps quietly and stood aside the door, careful not to be hit should it spring open.

Well, Kevin thought his tearducts were dried up bags of salt under his eyes until he heard a familiar voice. "Kevin! It's me! Open the door!"

Kevin Tran was a bright kid. He was never able to enjoy a movie because he sat and analyzed it the whole time. Especially horror movies. Why would anyone walk into a dark room, or decide to sleep in the house that was haunted? Dumbasses. Soooo not realistic. And, better yet, when you're being chased by a bad guy, you drop your car keys or forget which one fits in the ignition. Really? Sometimes when he thought about it, he laughed at the irony…

That's when realism met moviemaking in his mind. His newly-adopted older brother was just outside the door, the prodigal was returning, and Kevin fumbled with locks and almost couldn't figure out how to open the damn thing….

Sam stood there, Ezekiel over his shoulder in a fireman's carry, and the two stood opposite for a brief second. Sam smiled and reached to the side of Kevin's neck and patted his cheek, then followed him down the metal staircase.

"What happened?"

" Well, you know, the usual…"

Sam laid the angel on the couch as gently has he could. It wasn't as easy as carrying Crowley. This vessel was much taller and heavier, and more muscular. His face was bloody and he'd taken more than a few celestial shots to the gut. He opened his eyes as Sam stood over him. "Go get your brother. I will heal. He needs you more than I."

Sam strode over to Dean's room.

Kevin followed followed closely behind. "Good luck with that. It's-."

Size 14 boot meets metal door.

BOOM!

"—Locked."

Sam lost his breath at the sight of his brother.


	6. Chapter 6

On The Turning Away Chapter 6

A/N: So—I'm a chick and I wrote a moment…

Dean didn't even look up when the door flew open and banged into the wall. He just sat there, in the only chair left standing in the room. His head was down, and his hands were folded in front of him, resting on his knees. Everything in his room was destroyed. Once a source of pride, the only bedroom he ever had—everything in it was splintered. Hatchets were so embedded in the wall that when he tried to pull them out, he couldn't. The desk was lying in front of him in pieces. Glass from broken bottles of bourbon (in all his attempts to drink it, nothing would come out, as per the spell placed on them by Ezekiel—Dean thought he'd reached a special kind of Hell designed just for him) and wood littered the floor. The bed was toppled and the memory foam was ripped to shreds. The only other way more damage could've been done was if a nuclear bomb was dropped straight on it.

Sam's eyes teared up instantly.

"Dean…"

His brother looked up for a moment, and then looked back down. His eyes were swollen, from both vomiting and sorrow. Broken blood vessels surrounded his forehead like a tattooed halo, and it looked like he'd fell a few times in his drunken, angry stupor, probably against furniture, and each cheekbone was bruised. His clothes were dirty, and he'd cut himself somehow on the upper arm and dried blood ran down to his elbow. _If he's this broken on the outside_, Sam pondered, _the inside's ten times worse. He sucks at letting shit like this out…_

"You come back to tell me what a selfish bastard I am?"

"No."

Sam watched as Dean turned his head slightly towards him, then back down.

"You can't punish me any more than I have myself, Sam. You might as well leave again. Stay gone this time."

Unrebuffed, Sam took a few steps forward, looking at the floor and kicking debris out of the way. "We're gonna have to rebuild."

Dean swallowed hard. He too, like Kevin, didn't think he could cry any more than he already did. But, somehow, his body sold him out and the waterworks started again.

Sam crouched beside him, careful not to put his knees into the shards on the floor.

"There ain't no me if there ain't no you."

Dean inhaled sharply and held it. He looked into his brother's eyes and felt his muscles soften. Just as he began to reach for his brother, his Forgiver, Sam snatched him up in an embrace and cupped the back of his head and just stayed there. His once clenched fists were filled with the back of Sam's shirt, and his exhausted muscles shook as he tried to match his brother's grasp. He only let go when he felt Sam fumble around in his jacket pocket. When he looked down at his brother's hand, he held a small, circular embroidered piece of cloth. He stuck his forefinger and thumb in his eye sockets and swallowed again, then rubbed his face.

"You take up cross stitch while you were gone?"

"Read it, asshole."

Dean's forehead wrinkled again as the read the words, and he had to brush away the little salty betrayers one more time in order to finish it.

Sam watched as his brother read. His face took on an more serious tone. "I love you. I will no matter what. Shut up and accept it."

"Me too." Dean grabbed Sam by the back of the neck roughly and kissed him on the cheek. "If you ever tell anybody I just did that, Sam, so help me-." To be honest, he was surprised at his lack of inhibition himself. He looked down at his newly-acquired gift, studied it again, and looked up at his brother.

"I do all this."

Sam smiled and huffed, rolled his eyes, and started to walk out of the room.

"But I do!"

"Kev, get a broom, would ya?!"

FIN-BUT maybe subject to revisions... :)


End file.
